


Where Silence Reigns

by Sniperette



Category: Voltron: Legendary Defender
Genre: Implied/Referenced Abuse, M/M, Minor Character Death, Misgendering, Pre-Kerberos Mission, Protective Matt Holt, Protective Shiro (Voltron), Trans Keith (Voltron), Transphobia, and now for the trigger warnings because this fic touches on some sensitive topics
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2017-10-01
Updated: 2017-10-01
Packaged: 2019-01-07 20:58:26
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,878
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/12240498
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Sniperette/pseuds/Sniperette
Summary: SILENCE: (noun)- Complete absence of sound.Keith let a thought drift through his mind for a bit, a phrase he heard his dad use before; ‘Silence is golden’. He disagreed with it, thinking that silence was more likely to be black like the curtains in his new room, drawn to keep the light outside where it can’t hurt his stinging eyes.He wished he could tell his dad that, but he can’t bring himself to break the silence of the room; so he lets the silence break him instead.





	Where Silence Reigns

> **Silence:** _(noun)_
> 
> _-Complete absence of sound._
> 
>  
> 
>  

Two minutes and the world would return to life.

He would be allowed to speak again, but he’s not quite sure what he wants to say anymore. Should he say sorry? Or is that what other people are meant to say to him? It’s all a bit confusing for him.

He doesn’t like how he’s being held in place by the shoulder, and he doesn’t understand why adults seem to think that it’s comforting to him. He wants to run away, to scream, to cry, to come to terms with his loss. But the hand stays, steady.

So must he.

He wants to go back home, where he’ll open the door and shrug off his dark coat. His dad will tell him off for dripping rainwater all over the floor and ask him why he didn’t take an umbrella, but then the man will laugh at how he looks like a drowned rat and he will laugh along with him. He wishes he could laugh right now, just so that quiet isn’t as uncomfortable and the air isn’t as thick; he’s struggling to breathe, to think, and he’s as trapped in his own head as the sob is stuck in his throat.

His dad used to say that his head was stuck in the clouds, and it was true. He loved the stories that flew through his mind, and adored the adventures he imagined as the old red pick-up truck journeyed towards home. He was always the hero, the knight in shining silver armour. Every so often his dad would join him as a sidekick on his legendary quests (“Kicking ass and taking names,” he would say, before covering his mouth in mock shame for the swear words he let slip out).

Eventually, his head went further than the clouds, dreaming of space and stars and galaxies that he couldn’t see through his telescope at night. His dad encouraged him, told him that the sky was only an obstacle, not a limit. The world outside his window did not deserve a star like him, and his dad’s faith in him was enough to raise his spirits to the heavens.

Not now, though. Gravity made the air heavier in his lungs, and anchored him to a world where reality had no room for an imagination like his.

The bells ring out, and the only other sound is his shriveled up ‘goodbye’ to the wooden box in the ground.

He finally returns home, but his dad doesn’t tell him off. He should be grateful, like the time he told his dad the truth when he was seven and that he didn’t like his name, his clothes, or his hair. He thanked his lucky stars (he loved the stars once) that he had a dad who was thoughtful enough to ask him what his new name was; who bought him new clothes to replace his dresses and skirts; who cut his hair and let him grab the tufts of jet black from the floor and throw them in the air in celebration.

He was thankful.

But he couldn’t be thankful now, because silence didn’t call him by the name he chose for himself when he was seven. Silence only reminded him that he was alone.

So he screamed into his pillow until he screamed himself hoarse, and his new social worker came to collect him and his bags from the kerbside. She smiled at him, apologetic, a hand on his shoulder to comfort him. It almost worked, until she called him by the name that was as dead as his father in the ground. He flinched, recoiled, but said nothing. She realized her mistake, but the damage was done.

“Oh Keith, I’m so sorry- it was a slip of the tongue.”

He shrugged.

They drove.

The silence hung over them.

Keith let a thought drift through his mind for a bit, a phrase he heard his dad use before; ‘Silence is golden’. He disagreed with it, thinking that silence was more likely to be black like the curtains in his new room, drawn to keep the light outside where it can’t hurt his stinging eyes.  

He wished he could tell his dad that, but he can’t bring himself to break the silence of the room; so he lets the silence break him instead.

 

* * *

 

 

> **Silence:** _(verb)_
> 
> _-To cause to become silent; Prohibit or prevent from speaking._
> 
>  
> 
>  

Keith knows that they have tried their best to place him somewhere nice this time. The System is trying to say sorry for their past mistakes, for the bruises that litter his skin from one too many trips down the stairs or wayward doors that coincidently hit him as he was passing by. He says it’s okay and that they couldn’t have known; that it doesn’t hurt when his fingers lose count of his hospital trips and lose feeling under the canvas of purple and black of his skin.

It’s a lie, because it did hurt- he’s just learned how to ignore it and move on.

Just like he moves on to a new home, where he passes the two month mark without incident and hopes against hope that he can finally settle. The couple he’s left with treats him like he’s fragile at first, but that’s good; it means that they won’t inflict any physical harm on him for fear that he’ll break, and Keith can heal from his old injuries in piece. The third month comes and goes, and the awkwardness between them all starts to become more noticeable. By the fourth, it’s unbearable.

The fifth month finds Keith stifling the pang of betrayal in his chest when his deadname slips out of his foster father’s mouth, while he smothers the inner voice that whispers to him to run when the man doesn’t correct himself.

“It’s Keith, sir,” he says quietly.

(It’s turned into a joke along the lines of ‘Hey Keith, I’m Dad’ and he’s reminded that he doesn’t have to be so formal with his foster parents.

Except that he can see it in their eyes. It’s not a joke.

He’s the joke, but they don’t find the punch line funny.)

Month six is when they put their hands on his shoulders and tell him that it’s time to grow up. Keith blinks first in confusion, then in shock. The inner voice speaks again, telling him to leave while he can, nut his feet won’t listen and he stays rooted to the spot. Their hands weigh him down, just in case, and he wants to crumble under the pressure he’s straining against.

His voice is small when he tells them that no, it’s not a phase, that he never was and never has been anyone but Keith.

It’s small, but it makes them back off for a little while.

The inner voice gets a little bit louder each day, like when he spot a leaflet about counselling for traumatised kids and teens stashed away between the cushions of the sofa; or when he unlocks the family computer and finds a variety of articles on conversion therapy stagnating in the browser history; or when he accompanies his foster mother to the shops and she sneaks a hairband with his deadname on it into the basket.

Keith has been ignoring the voice for so long that it’s hard to bring himself to answer it. So it screams at him until his head hurts, and he almost misses his foster father committing the same mistake that he made back in month five. But it’s now month eight, and it’s certainly not a mistake; it’s deliberate and their intent makes him sick to the stomach.

Keith storms off to his room and leaves the rest of his dinner untouched on the table. He ignores the shout of his foster father, and the pleas of his foster mother to come back downstairs- but he can’t ignore the click of the lock on his bedroom door. The next half an hour is spent screaming and pounding at his door, demanding and then begging to be let out, to be forgiven. He is ignored in return.

The next few days are tense and quiet as they tiptoe around each other, not wanting to get flattened by the elephant in the room. Classes keep him occupied and away from the house until Friday, so he counts his blessings until then. Unfortunately, maths definitely isn’t his favourite subject.

The adoption certificate is ugly and he hates it, but they tell him that it should make him feel better. It cements his place in their little home (but it’s not home, and they’ll never be his family) and it tells him that he belongs somewhere, so he can give up on his game of play pretend.

They’re wrong. If anything counts as play pretend, it’s the name that fills the space on the document where his own should have been. That name was a masquerade that tolerated until he was seven, before he threw it away in the trash where it belonged. Keith revels in their disappointment when he walks away from them without a reply, but the clothes that lie on his bed make him freeze in horror.

When he finally comes back to his senses, he throws them in the trash to rot beside his old name; but he feels the pink glitter mocking him when he is backhanded for his rudeness and sent to bed early. Keith’s terrified to find that the inner voice that used to keep him awake at night has stopped, and he is left to suffocate alone in the silence of the night.

Month ten, he is tired, and his deadname feels like a heavy weight on his tongue when he introduces himself to his new classmates. They don’t notice, nor do they care, so he slinks to the back of the room and hopes that they’ll ignore him if he keeps quiet enough. Silence is golden, and he repeats it to himself like a mantra (but it’s more like a lifeline now, and he clutches it to his chest when it starts to hurt in a way that he has dreaded for years). All he has to do is smooth down his skirt, flutter his lashes, and play pretend until bedtime; then he can shed his disguise and return to being Keith once more.

Keith found himself craving the silence, welcoming it like an old friend each night as it crept from the corners of his bedroom. It was the only constant he could rely on anymore.

* * *

****

> **Silence:** _(noun)_
> 
> _-The avoidance of mentioning or discussing something._
> 
>  
> 
>  

The one positive thing that came out of his experience as a stranger in his own existence was that his love for the stars came back with a force. He knew that once he left his old life behind, he wouldn’t stop until he had reached the furthest corners of the Milky Way.

At least then, he wouldn’t feel regret for being Keith. He wouldn’t have to apologise for simply existing comfortably in his own skin.

But until then, he’d have to make do with the little moments here and there where he can drop his guard and his act around people who don’t know who he used to be. Like when he gives his name, his true name to the barista behind the counter, or when he signs up for a membership card at a place that ~~his family~~ his keepers don’t care about.

When he hears that there’s a school trip to the Galaxy Garrison being organised, he’s the first to return his permission slip. There was a split second of fear when it looked like he wasn’t going to get the signature that he so desperately needed, but they relented and marked it in their calendars.

Keith finds himself staring in amazement at the building when the day and his class arrive. His excitement almost distracts him from the bitter taste in his mouth when his name card is handed to him, but not quite. It gets less noticeable throughout the day as the tour goes on, and Keith knows that he’s set his heart on attending the facility as soon as he can get the hell out of dodge.

That’s when he meets him for the first time.

Takashi Shirogane is a cadet who is about to graduate, and he shows them around the mess hall, library and the flight simulators. He shakes everyone’s hands when he greets them, and Keith ignores how his own breath hitches when Shirogane smiles at him, like he _knows_. The moment was over as soon as it started, and Keith hopes for an opportunity to draw his attention again before the day is over.

His first chance is at lunch, and he sits off to the side away from his peers. Shirogane spots him sitting on his own, and joins him at his table with a sandwich in hand. The hand on his shoulder brings his mind back down to earth, but it doesn’t feel as heavy as he expects. It’s genuinely comforting for once, and Keith knows that Shirogane’s grip is weak enough for him to break if he needs to. But he knows that he doesn’t really want to, anyways.

“Hey, buddy, why are you sitting on your own?”

Keith shrugs, suddenly choking on his words as they stick in his throat. He noticed that he’d been doing that a lot within the past few years, freezing up when he was expected to speak. Shirogane seems to understand, and pauses in his questioning. Keith’s grateful for the amicable silence as they both continue eating, happy enough to just be in each other’s presence.

Shirogane starts talking again, but he’s not expecting Keith to answer; he just talks a little about himself, and a little about the classes he’s attended at the Garrison. Keith could listen to him talk for hours.

So when they lull into quietness again, Keith finds his voice again.

(A little bit of it, anyways.)

“Why do you want to go to space?”

Shiro jumps, but doesn’t let the surprise show on his face at the sound of Keith’s voice. The smile that blossoms across his face makes Keith’s heart flutter, and he starts to excitedly ramble on about his love for space, and the stars, and the galaxies that he hasn’t seen yet in the telescopes at the Garrison.

Keith finds it a little bit easier to breathe.

He gets his chance to catch Shirogane’s attention in the flight simulators; He volunteers to try it out and nails it on the second try. His giddiness at completing the simulator increases tenfold when he steps out and Shirogane is there, his jaw hanging open.

Then he notices that the class is quiet, and they’re staring at him.

He shrinks back into himself when he looks up at the scoreboard and sees that his own score is sitting at the top, his deadname resting above Shirogane’s own. The cadet doesn’t seem mad, he’s ecstatic in fact; but the buzz doesn’t come when he’s congratulated with the wrong name.

He hangs back when then tour moves on, and doesn’t interact with their guides anymore. Shirogane notices, and Keith doesn’t elaborate on his sudden sullenness.

It’s not until near the end of the trip that he’s stopped and questioned, but Keith stays silent. After ten minutes of awkward companionship, Shirogane turns to leave, and panic urges Keith to do something, anything, to get him to stay. He grabs a pen from the cadet’s pocket despite his cut-off exclamation of surprise, and scribbles his deadname on his name tag out. In big and bold letters, he writes his real name above it, and shows it to Shirogane.

He expects a look of confusion at best, maybe some laughter at worst.

So he’s pleasantly surprised when he receives a warm smile again (he hears his breath hitch again, but it feels so much better this time) and Shirogane sticks his hand out for another handshake.

“Nice to meet you, Keith. My name is Takashi Shirogane,” he says confidently. He then drops his voice a little, and leans a bit closer.

“-but you can call me Shiro.”

Keith feels his heart swell, because ‘Shiro’ sounds almost as good as ‘Keith’ does when it’s coming from the man in front of him.

The class whistles and woops when they all get on the bus to go home, because they’ve spotted Shiro’s phone number written on the back of Keith’s hand. He laughs, finding it nice for once to be cheered on and treated like an old friend by the class he usually hides from.

When he retires to his bedroom that night, he dials the number and holds his breath as it rings. The silence that he normally uses as a safety blanket seems oppressive tonight, only kept at bay by the electronic chirrups that the phone at his ear spits out. Silence is golden, but Keith would happily live as a poor man if he could hear Shiro’s voice again.

On the tenth ring, it stops.

“Hey Keith, is that you?” Shiro’s voice fills the room, and Keith learns how to breathe again.


End file.
